


Lavender and Love

by MissMariaReynolds



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Sharing a Bed, i mean their first together not first ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7482645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMariaReynolds/pseuds/MissMariaReynolds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa had taken to joining Jon in his chambers when she couldn't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavender and Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this pairing and I'm actually very new to the ship, so comments would be greatly encouraging. Anyway I hope you enjoy, and I hope it's not too clichéd. And I do realize that this isn't the most creative idea in the world. Oh, well.

Sansa had taken to joining Jon in his chambers when she couldn't sleep. From the very first night he knew that this wasn't something ordinary siblings did. Perhaps it was the way his heart sped up when he opened the door, seeing her hair mussed from tossing and turning, seeing the thin pale purple sleeping shift slipping off of one pale shoulder, or perhaps it was the way her clear blue eyes stared into his own when she helped him unlace his jerkin. Her long fingers were deft and light and she was so close that he could feel her warmth, could smell faint lavender in her auburn waves.

He knew full well that sisters didn't ordinarily lead their bastard brothers by the hand to his bed, nor curl up under the furs with her head pillowed on his chest, nor lace their fingers over his heart. And bastard brothers didn't ordinarily kiss their sisters on their crown for such a lingering time, nor wrap a free arm to pull her even closer. All he knew was that he never wanted to be parted from her again.

In truth, they were hardly separated. They had taken to eating meals together, planning together, and more often than not sharing a bed together. All he seemed to do when she was gone was wonder what she was doing, or how she felt, or if she needed him as much as he had grown to need her.

Their nightly routine didn't change much, only the addition of words and even the occasional laugh that still felt slightly out of place.

"What are you thinking about?" Jon asked after a long pause one night. He knew she wasn't asleep by her breathing, he could tell easily by now. Sansa turned in his arms and placed a hand on his chest, leaning over him so they were nearly nose to nose. His breath seemed to stop.

"I was thinking that I am almost happy," she told him, tracing her finger in a circular pattern under his clavicle.

"Almost?" Jon asked, hardly a whisper. Her hair fell around her face, a frame, a halo. In the dim light coming from the dying fire her features were darkened by shadow, but her eyes were bright and searching.

Her lips met his like they had always meant to be there, warm and soft and moving against his in a slow, perfect rhythm. When she parted her lips for him she sighed into his mouth, and he might have thought he was dying if he hadn't done so before, because an end never tasted so sweet.

She didn't kiss quite how he expected. Her tongue made tentative circuits, tracing his lips with the tip, darting where she wanted it to go. It made him wonder if she'd never gotten to explore another person freely, and that thought made him pause. He broke away slowly and untangled fingers that he didn't realize he had entwined in her hair.

"Jon," she whispered, still so close that he could feel her hot breath ghost over his lips. She attempted to lean forward but his hands slid down to her shoulders, holding her still.

“Sansa,” he began, before faltering. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I want you,” she said firmly. “I want us. I want to be happy, and to make my own choices. Don't you want us to be happy?”

“You know what I am,” Jon said haltingly. How could he deny her happiness? How could he deny her freedom?

“You are a king,” Sansa pointed out. “Besides, you cannot think I care, not anymore.” He released his hold on her and moved a hand instead to her cheek, the pad of his thumb moving across her cheekbone.

“You are ever a queen,” he murmured before bringing his lips to their more familiar place on the smooth skin of her forehead. When he pulled back he saw her small smile.

“Your queen,” she replied. 


End file.
